


The Darkness We Chase

by the_queen_is_dead



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Someone Help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27149260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_queen_is_dead/pseuds/the_queen_is_dead
Summary: What if Will hadn’t been working with Jack Crawford and he decided to run away with Hannibal after all? (Basically the epitome of a “what-if” hannigram fic)Disclaimer: First fanfic ever, pls be nice. I'm trying!
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter One: Reunions Are Best Served with Style

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is pretty short. I'll try to post every week!

Will arrived at the imposing mansion-like house, and he knew that this was it. The moment he hadn’t let himself think about. The fear that it would all disappear before his eyes, that Hannibal himself would disappear in a puff of smoke, only a figment of Will’s damaged imagination, a beautiful and horrific addition that changed the course of his life forever.

_Don’t let the teacup shatter._

Will gathered his courage and approached the house. The door was ajar, something Hannibal, in his everlasting patience and attention to detail, would never let happen.

Which meant Jack came early.

Instantly, Will was filled with a sick sort of dread in his stomach, and all he could think as he stepped into the foyer and drew his gun was _dear God please let Jack be alive, and please, please, let Hannibal-_ Will’s breath caught, and he found that he couldn’t even bear to finish the thought. Will once again was filled with self-loathing, overwhelming him like a tidal wave. What kind of sick bastard was worried about the safety of a known serial killer? He was well aware that he was a special type of sick for sticking with Hannibal after everything he’d done, and yet his heart was still rushing with worry about him, as well another worry that he didn’t want to linger on, a fear of what he’d done, on what had been keeping him so busy that the door was left open.

Will shut the door behind him and continued on through the house, walking slowly and softly as he could on the soft carpeting of Hannibal’s elaborate hallways. Almost as if by instinct, Will ended up in the kitchen, a cruel irony that didn't escape him. A rustling sound behind him made him jump, and he whirled, gun drawn, to find…

“Abigail?”

Will’s brain, for a moment, seemed to stop functioning. How could she be here before him, blood rushing from her heart and through her body, instead of lying cold in a morgue somewhere with her throat sliced open and her eyes staring lifelessly at the back of her eyelids? There was only one explanation, and it seemed so beyond probable that even when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder and turned to face him, he couldn’t quite fathom it.

“You saved her,” he said to Hannibal, and Hannibal’s mouth curved up on one side, that barely-there smile that instantly put Will at ease.

“Yes,” he said. “For you, Will. It was meant to be a surprise.”

“Well, consider me surprised,” he said, and Hannibal reached up to caress his cheek, before releasing his hold on his shoulder and spinning him softly to face Abigail.

“Don’t be rude, Will. You know how I feel about impoliteness.”

Will walked towards her as if in a dream, still unable to believe that she was here.

“Hannibal says you took me fishing,” Abigail said, by way of hello, and he blinked back a year of unshed tears.

“Yes,” he said softly, and he reached out to touch her arm, to convince himself that she wasn’t a dream.

“I’m here,” she said softly, and then Will was hugging her, holding her in his arms in the fatherly embrace he scarcely allowed himself to imagine before now. When they broke apart, Hannibal was still watching them, his face impassive and his hands folded in front of him. It was looking at those hands, those elegant and wonderful weapons of destruction, that Will remembered Jack.

“Hannibal,” he said, and he knew Hannibal had been waiting for this, the moment that would make or break this fantasy of a reunion, and the dream of a future.

“Hannibal, Where’s Jack?” Hannibal smiled again, and this time, it did not comfort Will.

“In the kitchen.”

In Will’s distress, his words came out more pronounced than he intended. “Where in the kitchen?”

Hannibal simply looked at him, his gaze emotionless as ever. Will felt, suddenly and extremely, that he did not want to see where Jack was in the kitchen, but he forced himself to creep around the counter.

Jack’s body was lying on the floor of the kitchen, his throat cut and blood pooling from his neck and on the floor. His stomach was cut open with surgical precision, his intestines spilling out from inside. Will raised his gaze to the counter, and saw a bloody human heart resting upon a cutting board, a freshly sharpened knife next to it.

His vision blurred and his mind was hazy, his legs trembling unsteadily underneath him. The last thing he saw before the sweet release of oblivion was Hannibal’s red eyes above him.


	2. Chapter Two: Prince of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will forgets about everything but Hannibal, as usual.

The first thing Will saw when he opened his eyes was Hannibal. 

He was sitting in a chair not unlike the chairs in his office, and they were facing each other, like they had in so many past conversations in that very same office.

“Will. You’re awake.” 

Will reached up to rub his eyes and realized his hands were tied. 

“Isn’t it impolite to watch someone sleep?” 

Hannibal watched him struggle and didn’t attempt to hide his amusement. 

“Under normal circumstances, yes, but I am your therapist. I was concerned for your well-being.You took quite a turn last night.” 

Will remembered Jack’s prone body on the floor of the kitchen, and struggled against the rising guilt in his chest. 

“Why did you kill him?” 

Hannibal studied Will for a moment with his unreadable eyes. 

“You knew I was going to kill him, Will. We’ve discussed it.” 

Will said nothing, but Hannibal smiled in a way that made Will feel as if they were one body, as if Hannibal could feel what he felt, could hear his thoughts. 

“You’re feeling guilty.” It wasn’t a question. 

Will’s eyes flickered to his face, and he felt almost compelled to confess. 

“Yes.” 

“The reason for that guilt is not because you regret being unable to prevent Jack’s death, but that it brought you some level of satisfaction to see his body on the floor, his heart removed like it seemed to be when he assigned you to this job. A fitting end.” Hannibal scanned his face as he spoke, looking for a reaction. 

“Almost poetic,” Will said bitterly. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Hannibal inclined his head, trace amusement etched on his face. 

“You know they’ll be looking for him. Alana will be looking for him. She suspects you.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, and his eyes darkened to deep maroon pools. “Quite clever of you to plant the seeds of doubt into Alana’s head. I did say you were capable of deceiving me, and deceive me you did.” 

Will stared at Hannibal’s face, at the placid mask hiding his turmoil of rage and betrayal. 

“And what do you plan to do about that, Hannibal?” Will said. “Do you plan to consume the cause of your betrayal? The person who caused you to feel this loss of control?” 

Hannibal’s eyes shifted almost imperceptibly. “I thought about it,” he said, and Will felt a cool shiver of fear and something he couldn’t name trickle down his spine. “But alas, I do not wish to see the teacup shatter just yet.” 

“I thought I was a butterfly,” Will said softly, and Hannibal smiled. 

“Perhaps you can be both. Is God not both forgiving and vengeful?” 

“So now I’m God?” 

“No, Will. You are far too wild a creature for that.” 

“Right,” Will said. “God’s bloodlust is controlled, reigned in. Measured.” 

Hannibal smiled. “As God should be.”

“Then what am I, in relation to your God?” 

Hannibal rose, and walked around to the back of Will's chair, placing a hand on the top of his head and stroking down, causing Will’s mind to fight within itself, self-loathing and attraction battling for dominance. 

“You are Lucifer. God’s greatest creation.” 

“Lucifer became too much for God to handle,” Will retorted, and another shiver ran down his spine as Hannibal continued to stroke his head, softly possessive.

“Now they fight an endless battle for the souls of humanity,” Hannibal remarked, and lightly grazed Will’s scalp with his nails. Will fought back any physical indication of reaction, but his blood pulsed in his veins and his heart was pounding, and he knew that Hannibal, somehow, could feel it.. 

“It seems rather strange that, metaphorically, you are God and I am the Devil.” 

Hannibal’s hand stilled its movements. “Why? You are my creation, after all.” 

“Is that what you consider me? Will laughed bitterly. “Lecter’s Monster?” 

“Give me more credit than that, Will,” Hannibal chided. “I am not so clumsily experimental as Dr. Frankenstein.” 

“Are you saying you have more control over me than the doctor had on his monster? That seems a tad boastful, Dr. Lecter.” Will closed his eyes as Hannibal resumed his caresses. 

“I do not think I can control you. I believe I have led you out of the cave of shadows. What you choose to do with your enlightenment is within your control.”

“And if I choose to go with you?” 

Will couldn’t deny the rush of satisfaction he got when Hannibal stopped his movements abruptly. 

“Then we will burn together, and the world will burn with us.” 

“I don’t think the world will like that,” Will murmured softly, and he felt Hannibal lean down towards him and whisper in his ear as his breath left goosebumps on his neck. 

“It won’t have a choice.” 

Will was hyper aware of the distance between their bodies, the tension in the air that seems to increase with every second they spend in this position. 

To distract himself, Will decided to address the obvious question.

“Why am I tied to a chair in the middle of your house, Hannibal?” 

Hannibal laughed softly. 

“How do I know you won’t turn me in to the FBI the second I let you loose?” 

Will considered this for a moment. 

“You don’t,” he said finally. “But I doubt you can resist seeing what I choose to do.” 

Hannibal exhaled deeply and rose to his feet. 

“You’re right, Will. I fully anticipate your decision.” 

Hannibal reached into his pocket and pulled out a scalpel, turning it in the light coming from the window so that the metal shines almost hypnotizingly. Without even realizing he had moved, the scalpel was now at his throat, so close that when Will swallowed, it just barely nicked the skin of his Adam’s apple. 

“You are so vulnerable like this,” Hannibal murmured. “I could do anything I wish, and you would be powerless to prevent it. What would provoke me to let you go?” 

Will stared deep into his maroon eyes and saw the answer.

“Because you don’t want to control me, not completely. You want me to choose you of my own free will.” 

Hannibal removed the scalpel from his neck and bent down to untie the knot at Will’s feet. Will looked down at his crouched form, and a slow sort of hunger begins to build in him. 

“Where will we go? The FBI are onto you. Where will you run to?” 

Hannibal looked up at him through his legs, a strange position that made WIll feel powerful, despite the rope that bound his body. 

“Have you decided completely? Have you created the reality you envision in your mind in front of you?” 

He finished untying the rope and moved to his knees, working on the knot that was tied so neatly above Will’s waist. 

“Well you’re untying me, so you obviously think I’ve made a decision.” 

Hannibal smiled again, and Will hated that smile, the one he used on Jack and Alana, the mask that hid the monster. 

“Haven’t you?” 

His hands were now free, and he grasped under Hannibal’s chin, holding his face in his hands, making him kneel in front of him. He lifted his face so that Hannibal was looking right into his eyes. 

“No more masks with me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal grew almost somber then, his eyes deep pools of knowledge. 

“Never with you, Will.” 

Will said “Good,” leaned forward, and kissed him. Hard. 


	3. The Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will falls deeper into Hannibal's web, but doesn't consider that Hannibal may actually be falling into his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would update every week but I'm honestly coming up with these chapters so fast!!!! (That'll probably change as i get more work at school after testing and such, but we vibin rn)
> 
> Comment what u think so far !!!

Will kissed Hannibal deeply and completely, pulling him up to meet him in the chair. Hannibal immediately took control of the kiss, leaving Will reeling, feeling like he was falling of the edge of the cliff and the only thing rooting him to the spot was him, and Will should have seen this coming, this overwhelming feeling of helplessness, powerless against the element of destruction that was Hannibal Lecter…..

Will?” 

Will blinked and Hannibal was kneeling at his feet, untying the knot that bound them. Hannibal looked up at him and something in his eyes made Will feel once again that he knew what he was just thinking, and the thought made Will’s heart seem to beat just that little bit faster. Hannibal rose to his knees and worked on the knot around Will’s hands, and Will thought there must be something deliberate in the way he ran his fingers softly over the palm of his hands and sent tiny sparks through his body. Will breathed deeply and Hannibal’s eyes were boring holes right into Will’s brain. Hannibal, finished with his hands, stood so he towered over Will. He walked around and began untying Will from the chair. As he worked, he spoke in a calm and measured tone. 

“We need to discuss Jack; or rather, Jack’s body.” 

Will was anticipating this, and he challenged his statement with a question of his own. “Are you going to leave him as a display, a warning to the FBI about what happens when you cross Hannibal Lecter?” 

Nothing can shake Hannibal, and his response is cool and calm as if they were casually discussing the weather. 

“Jack was my friend. I had to kill him, but I did not enjoy it.” 

“Yes you did,” WIll said, and he could easily imagine Hannibal’s pleasure at Will’s ability to see through him. 

“Yes, I suppose I did.” He finished untying the knot at his back and moved again so he was standing in front of Will. He offered him a slender hand, and Will took it and stood. 

“You never answered my question, Dr. Lecter,” he said, and Hannibal’s expression shifts so slightly he doesn’t know if he imagined it or not. 

“Jack Crawford is not a warning, Will. He is an example. How would you best present him?” 

Will was aware he is being tested, and how he reacted to this question could determine his future usefulness. Hannibal studied him with scientific interest, and Will knows what he needs to do. He closed his eyes, and a vision of Jack Crawford’s body appeared behind his eyelids. 

“He is kneeling, his hands bound, and a rope holds him in place to a metal pole at his back. I approach him, and I notice his chest is bare, a gaping hole where his heart should be, his stomach sliced open with surgical precision. I survey the portrait of the kneeling leader, and I feel a combination of regret and a more abundant, wild sense of purpose, the pleasure of an artist looking at his finished work. Jack Crawford’s life is gone, but his usefulness has not ended. This is my design.” 

He spoke in little more than a whisper, but he knew that Hannibal had heard him, and he felt his presence behind his back like the whisper of movement. A hand touched his shoulder, and Will tenses under his light touch.

“Beautiful, Will,” he said, and there is such a stark contrast between Hannibal’s sharply tailored suit and Will’s flannel and jeans, but Will had never felt more connected, more whole. More understood. He opened his eyes and the room came back into focus. 

“Let’s go set an example,” he said, and he felt Hannibal’s approval without looking at his face. 

Will turned and walked to the door, opening it with one hand and gesturing towards Hannibal with the other. 

“Shall we?” 

Hannibal inclined his head. “Please.”

They exited the room, and they are both aware of the difference in energy between them. Everything has changed, and they are heading into the deep dark of the unknown. 

Abigail was sitting at the kitchen counter and looked up at their arrival. Her face looked tired and afraid, and Will felt a sudden twinge of concern for her, at the deep ocean of darkness he and Hannibal were now subjecting her to. 

Hannibal looked at him with a slight wariness.

“She is where she belongs, Will,” he said, and Will relaxed, knowing he was right, that no one but them would ever accept her, protect her, keep her safe. 

“I know,” he said, and Hannibal nodded, satisfied. 

Although it seemed like Hannibal and Will had been in that room for days, it has only been a couple hours since Will discovered Jack’s body on the kitchen floor. He appraised it now, and there was no blood on the floor of the kitchen anymore, nor was there a heart sitting on the counter. Hannibal’s clear suit lays folded over a chair. 

“I waited for you,” Hannibal said now, and Will knew that he wanted Will to be the one to do it. 

“We’ll bring him to my house,” he said, and Hannibal looked at him sharply. 

“Why risk your exposure, Will? No one knows of your involvement, and it is in your best interest to keep it that way.” 

“But they suspect.” 

“Suspicion and proof are two different stages,” he said, and there were layers upon layers of brutal and clever betrayal in the look Hannibal gave him. 

“You're right,” he said finally, and Hannibal nodded. 

“I’ll take care of the body. You go to this address with Abigail.” He handed him a thin piece of paper covered in Hannibal’s elegant, loopy handwriting. “Everything we need is already provided for. I will meet you there.”

“What about my dogs?” Will asked, and Hannibal must have expected this question, because he answered at once. 

“Alana will care for them. She has done it once before.” 

Will knew Alana would care for them better than he could now, but he still felt a large pang in his chest as he thought of them. They deserved better than him, and better than this. 

Hannibal noticed Will’s distress. 

“We can always get another dog,” he said, and Will snorted. 

“A cannibal, a mentally unstable lunatic, and their ward filing adoption papers? I don’t think so.” 

“You’re not mentally unstable, Will,” said Hannibal simply, and Will doesn’t want to reflect on what that meant for his current situation. 

“Well that makes everything about this better” he says, and Hannibal's thin mouth quirks to one side. 

“I would agree.” 

The gravity of this situation was sinking on Will, and he grabbed Abigail’s hand. 

“Let’s go. We’ll leave Hannibal to deal with…” he grasped for a word. 

“To deal with the body. That we murdered.” Abigail supplied, and she was still shaking, something that filled Will with a deep desire to protect her from a world unable to understand her. 

“That is correct,” Hannibal said, and he is now dressed in his clear plastic suit, something that filled Will with dread and the tiniest hint of guilty apprehension. 

“Right,” he said, and he turned to go, taking Abigail out the door and to his car, only stopping once to look back at the large house. 

Once in the car, Will unfolded the paper. It was a street he didn’t recognize, although he had a vague idea, one he hoped he was wrong about. He could only imagine what Hannibal intended, but he knew as soon as he sat down in the car that he couldn't help but find out. 

⧪ ⧪ ⧪

  
  


Hannibal arrived at Dr. Du Maurier’s house only an hour after Will, and the first thing he noticed is his plastic suit is missing, and his pristine suit is covered in dried blood from hours earlier. 

He said nothing to Will as he entered, only took off his suit jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt, which is stained scarlet with blood. Will felt his face heat, and he looked away, under Hannibal’s amused gaze. 

“Why are we here, Hannibal?” He said, and Hannibal took his time before he responded, folding his clothes in a neat stack on a chair. 

“I would like a shower,” he said simply, and Will was suddenly aware that Hannibal was standing behind him, utterly naked. 

“Why take a shower here? Why not at your house,” Will said, though he knew as he spoke that both his house and Hannibal’s were probably under investigation at that very moment. 

“You know the answer to that, Will,” Hannibal said softly, before he asked “Where’s Abigail?” 

“She’s in the car, asleep,” he answered, before he realized with a start that Hannibal walked here, in the middle of the night, in the rain, covered in blood. 

“Why are you so confident you won't get caught?” 

“I’ve never been caught before,” Hannibal said, and Will closed his eyes sharply. 

“I could have caught you.” 

“You have come the closest,” Hannibal murmured, so low Will strained to hear him.

“Are you… partial to your therapist? Do you wish for her to be there to see your success?” Will sounded more bitter than he would have liked, a clear vulnerability he knew Hannibal would pounce on. 

Sure enough, he felt Hannibal as he approached him, his breath on his neck. 

“Is that what you think you are to me? An audience for my intellect?” 

Will mentally seethed, but his response was cool and indifferent. “What else are you capable of gaining from my presence?” 

Hannibal’s words were afloat in Will’s mind long after he left the room. 

_ “A partner.”  _


End file.
